But as much as I loved watching those shows with my dad—it was, after all, pretty much the only time we got to spend together—they always broke my heart a little. Because no matter how charmingly dysfunctional those families were, they were all TV perfect. They all loved each other and helped each other and there certainly was never a teenage girl taking care of two sad, emotionally checked-out men.

Welcome Back, Kotter ends and Rhoda starts playing. “Oh, I love Rhoda,” I croak, even though no one else is here and I should probably be saving my voice. “Such elegant scarves.”

I hear a knock on my door and sit up straight in bed. Annie’s not in town right now. Uncle Don always sends a polite text or call rather than coming up to my apartment. Mikey Danger is working, and even though I texted him, Can’t hang out later; too sick, he hasn’t responded. I mean, he’s probably driving his car and making deliveries. It’s fine.

Since I live in the carriage house, solicitors don’t ever knock on my door. Which leaves one person: Milo. Maybe Milo needs me for something; maybe he was visiting Dad and there was a problem!

I swing my feet over the bed and get up too quickly, feeling dizzy. “Ugh,” I say, holding my head in my hands. I cross the apartment in a few steps, then swing open the door, only to come face-to-face with someone who is decidedly not my twin brother.

It’s Nick, and I’m staring directly at his mouth, because I assumed I’d be meeting Milo’s eyes.

“Um . . . hi?” I say, my eyes moving up to meet his.

“Hi,” Nick says, a smile forming for a second before he wipes it away. I look down and remember that I’m wearing pajamas, my hair is in a truly unfortunate and lopsided topknot, and I’m not wearing any makeup. Not my signature bold lip; not my typical winged eyeliner; not the blush that gives my deathly pale skin the slight touch of pink it needs for me to not look like a sexy ghost.

My non-penciled-in brows contract. “Why are you here?”

Nick lowers his head to meet my eyes. “I’m checking on you. You said you were sick.”

I narrow my eyes. “Did you check on Tobin last week when he was sick?”

“No, but I knew he wasn’t really sick.”

“Touché.”

Nick gestures toward the sky with one hand. “It’s starting to rain.”

“Are you asking to come in?”

He sighs. “If I may be so bold, Chloe.”

I smile with faux-sweetness and step aside, gesturing as if I’m a butler. “Come in, sir. Welcome to my humble abode. Wait, what’s in the bag?”

I close the door as Nick walks to the table. He sets a paper bag on it and pulls out a Tupperware container. “Soup.”

“You brought me soup? Like, you went to the store and purchased soup for me?”

Nick looks at me quizzically. “You’ve set such a low bar for the people in your life. No, I didn’t buy you soup from a store. I made soup.”